


Frisked

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dominance, Drama, Frisking, Gen, Law Enforcement, Police, Power Dynamics, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade asserts his authority.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frisked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for  [](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlockbbc_fic**](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/)  Kink Meme prompt

This really was too much. Nearing midnight and the thirty-sixth hour of a manhunt, Detective Inspector Lestrade’s patience was as defunct as the prostitute lying dead at his feet in the alley. _Fourth one in two days, bloody hell,_ he thought and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. The responding officer had found Dr. John Watson hovering near the body, presumably trying to give aid – but it was too late for the poor girl.

Where there’s John, there’s Sherlock…or should have been. The DI would bet his life that Sherlock had been there, but had run off immediately, leaving John behind to deal with the police. Well, not immediately. He had stuck around long enough to muck up the crime scene and pilfer evidence. Lestrade could see that much from the girl’s rifled clothes and the small bare patch of concrete that showed something had been removed from the pool of blood by her head. And for reasons Lestrade could not fathom, John was denying that Sherlock had even been there, let alone that he had taken anything.

This wasn’t the first time Sherlock had compromised a case, which is why Lestrade had expressly forbidden him to show up at crime scenes uninvited or in advance of Lestrade’s team. To Sherlock it was all about the game. Once he’d solved his precious puzzle, he couldn’t give a whiff about what came after. Chain of evidence be damned. Lestrade didn’t know how Sherlock had found out about this latest murder, or what he had taken off the body, but the DI did know one thing for sure – John Watson knew those answers full well and was covering for him.

When the good doctor had begun accompanying Sherlock Holmes on investigations, Lestrade’s initial misgivings were quickly set at ease by the man’s demeanor. He was a military man and as such showed the proper deference to authority, not to mention a firm grasp of social mores and the capacity for basic empathy. Lestrade thought he might even be a civilizing influence on their Sherlock. But after eight months of living with the man and following on his coattails, John Watson was starting to pick up some of Sherlock’s worst habits. Like acting as if he owned a crime scene instead of being a guest (at Lestrade’s pleasure, thank you very much) or impeding an investigation by withholding information until it pleased Sherlock to allow him to spill it. But this…assuming he could lie to a DI with impunity to cover for his precious friend stealing evidence and potentially compromising their case? Lestrade couldn’t let this transgression pass unanswered. He didn’t expect he could make John talk ( _loyal to a fault, that one, and not to me_ ), but he could at least remind the doctor of his proper place.

He pulled John away from the other officers and out of the alley. “I’m only going to ask you this once more, Dr. Watson,” Lestrade said, deliberately choosing the more formal address in order to distance himself and ensure there was no mistake – this was not a conversation between friends. “Where is Sherlock and what did he take from the body?”

John swallowed, pursed his lips and looked away from Lestrade. “I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said.

Twenty years of police work had honed Lestrade’s ability to detect a load of bullshit from even the most accomplished career criminals, but he hardly needed those refined instincts now. John Watson was a terrible liar.

“Right. I’ve had enough of this, then. Turn around and assume the position.”

“I’m sorry – what?” John said, a bemused smile playing on his face.

In answer, Lestrade grabbed hold of one of John’s wrists, twisting it behind his back and slamming him up against the brick wall of the nearest building. Not as hard as he would have handled a drug dealer, say, but hard enough to make his point.

“Ow! Fuck, Lestrade!” John complained, struggling to free himself. Lestrade held him firm with the weight of his own body, one hand still grasping John’s wrist at mid-back, the other forearm pressed to the back of John’s neck, pinning his face to the wall.

He leaned in close and growled in John’s ear, “Are you going to cooperate, or do I have to bring you in?”

John ceased his struggling. “Yes, yes, OK. I’ll cooperate,” he said.

 _A bit off balance now – not sure this isn’t serious – it’s a start_ , Lestrade thought. He let up and John dutifully stretched out his arms and put both hands up on the wall. Lestrade kicked his legs open once, then again, until they were more than shoulder-width apart. He stepped back for a moment to observe. John stood quiet and still, his head ducked down a bit between his shoulders. _A bit more cowed_. But his jaw was still firmly set. _Need to fix that_.

Lestrade then began to frisk him, running his hands down John’s outstretched arms front and back. He made sure he was close enough for John to feel his breath on the back of his neck as he brought both arms around him and slid his hands down the front of John’s shirt.

“Have you got anything on you I should know about?” he asked.

“No,” John replied ( _defiant_ , Lestrade thought). “What could I possibly…?”

The question was clipped as Lestrade jammed a hand into John’s front trouser pocket and fingered a set of keys, a bottle opener, an old lint ball. Lestrade removed his hand from the pocket, resting it firmly on John’s hip to prevent him from reflexively moving away as the other hand dug around in the next pocket – bill fold, some loose coins. Lestrade could plainly see there was nothing in the rear pockets. A light pat down to confirm was all that was needed, but he decided to have a go of them as well, delving into each a bit rougher than was necessary. John tolerated the invasion in silence.

Lestrade lifted John’s shirt and stuck both hands into the waistband of his trousers, eliciting a startled intake of breath.

“Are you sure I’m not going to find anything?” he growled. 

John answered with a barely audible, “Yes.” _Much more subdued now_. Lestrade ran the fingers of both hands along the inside of the waistband, from back to front then back again, feeling John’s abdomen tighten defensively.

Lestrade stepped back and motioned to Donovan to come over and provide backup. Bending over to pat down a suspect’s legs could put an officer in a potentially vulnerable position – not that he expected resistance from John. But in this case the weight of an extra set of eyes and another badge would further serve Lestrade’s purpose. As Donovan sidled up to him, Lestrade was pleased to note John acknowledge her presence with a splash of red creeping up his neck from his collar. _Almost there_ , _then_ , he thought. _Now for the clincher_.

Lestrade slid the palm of his hand up John’s inner thigh until it rested high in the crease of his groin. He held it there a beat or two longer than was absolutely necessary, before dragging both hands down either side of John’s leg – flank to ankle. He repeated the procedure on the other side, this time adding a bit of a nudge to John’s balls with the back of his hand.

When he again stood upright, Lestrade grabbed John’s shoulder and pulled him around to face forward. John instinctively clasped both hands in front of him – classic defensive response to perceived vulnerability. He kept his head low, eyes on the ground in front of him.

 _Completely submissive now_ , Lestrade thought. _That’s better, Johnny boy_.

“I won’t have this again, Doctor. I mean it. I’ll deal with Sherlock later, but you’d do well to keep clear of his messes. Do we understand one another?”

John gave a quick, silent nod, still not lifting his gaze.

“Good. Now clear off,” Lestrade said. “And tell him I want that evidence he nicked on my desk first thing in the morning!” he barked, as John walked quickly off between two parked police cars.

Turning back towards the alleyway, Donovan laughed. “How long do you suppose that will last?” she asked.

“Hell if I know,” Lestrade muttered, and turned his attention back to his contaminated crime scene to see what could be salvaged.

****   



End file.
